


Busted

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:17:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henri gets an unexpected look into the loft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Busted

## Busted

by J M Griffin

Author's disclaimer: Jim and Blair (and Henri) are not mine, damn it. They belong to Pet Fly and UPN. 

* * *

Busted  
By J. M. Griffin 

I've known Detective James Ellison for a long time, longer even than our captain. He's been at my house and met my momma. He calls me "H" like my four brothers do. He's one of those friends you might not party with much anymore, but who you know will come when you call. I called him once a few years ago, when my little brother got in some trouble and I needed a friend to help me bail him out. Fortunately no bail was needed, but Jim was there when I needed him and as a two man team we pulled my little brother Terry's fat out of the fire. 

So, when Jim calls me from San Fran where he's at a police seminar and asks me to help him, well, I immediately reply, "sure thing, what's up?" 

"It's Blair, he's in trouble and it will take me too long to get to him." 

"Hairboy's in trouble? What'd he do, pick up another crazy chick who's gotten him into some sort of mess?" 

"God, H, I wish it was that simple. He's been busted for possession of marijuana." Ellison's voice is dry and tight, with this weird-ass edge of hysteria. He's really protective of his little ride-along, consultant, hippy friend. 

"I didn't know Sandburg was into drugs." I can't keep the surprise out of my voice. 

"He's not." Jim sighs over the phone; Hairboy is something of a trial to my hard-nosed cop friend. "He bought the stuff for a friend who is really sick with cancer. She smokes it to alleviate the..." 

"Nausea," I cut in, "yeah, I know. Someday the FDA is gonna get smart and make that shit available for medicinal use." 

"As a matter of fact, there's some legislation pending, but it isn't going to help Blair right now. He's down in county jail and he used his one call to contact me. H, will you go and see if you can pull some strings? I'd really rather not get Simon involved in this if I don't have to. I know it's asking a lot, but..." 

"Say no more, man. It's done." 

"Thanks, H. I've got a seat on the first flight out in the morning. Call me here at the hotel and tell me how it goes, okay?" 

* * *

Blair Sandburg's had ride along privileges for way longer than is regulation. But none of us in Major Crimes ever mentions it. I'm not the only one who sees that Sandburg's presence is what keeps Ellison sane. Back before Blair, Jim was losing it. Seriously angry-at-the-world losing it. Hell, I knew it was a mistake when Ellison married Carolyn Plummer, but some things you just don't say to a drinking buddy cop friend. I mean, I always liked Carolyn, but she was not the right woman for Jim Ellison. When it was over, I thought Jim would be better off, but he seemed to get worse. More volatile, even more of a hard-ass loner than he was when he was in Vice, which is saying a lot. 

Then one day this geeky, long-haired kid shows up at the station and saves the day. And despite Ellison's hard-assed ways, the kid keeps coming back. And finally it's like he just belongs there at Jim's side and Jim's just better for it. 

* * *

Sandburg's rarely at a loss for words, but as they release him from the holding cell, I can see he's exhausted as hell and can barely speak. I can also see that he's been roughed up a bit. There's blood on his lip and he's got a bruise on his temple. But I don't say anything or ask any questions, at least not while we're at the lock up 

Blair's the kind of man some would call too pretty for his own good. By the "lost opportunity" look on the faces of a couple of the guys in the tank, Sandburg's release was just in time. 

He slumps against the door of my jeep as I drive him down the rain slick streets to the loft apartment he shares with Ellison. 

"Thanks, Henri." He says quietly. The blood on his lip still glistens,. so I hand him a tissue. 

"No sweat, Hairboy." 

Suddenly he twists away from me and I can see his shoulder's shaking. I pull over under a street lamp and just wait. The radio is on and I listen to it while Sandburg pulls himself together. 

"Are you okay? They didn't get to you, did they?" 

I can see he understands what I mean. He's been around the block a few times and though we all tend to call him kid, he's not a kid at all. 

"They tried. The big guy in the navy tank top..." 

"Yeah. I saw him." 

"He thought I'd be easy..." 

"You're a lot of things, Sandburg, but easy ain't one of them." 

He laughs shakily. "Thanks, H. Thanks...," he stops, not crying, but sort of gasping for air. 

I start up the jeep to give him some space and by the time we get to the apartment building where he and Jim live, he's got himself under control again. 

I walk up with him and when he fumbles the key for the second time, I take it out of his hand and open the door for him. I haven't been in Jim's place since he hosted poker night about four month's back, so I'm really taken aback when I go inside. 

Blair doesn't notice me looking all around. The loft has changed a lot. It used to be sterile and open and a sort of no man's land that made you shudder. Now it's warm and not cluttered, but cozy. A wall has been painted, there's a poster on the door and some tribal stuff on the bookshelf. It's like Jim's home has been infiltrated. Correction. It's totally different now; it truly is a home. Wild. 

Sandburg's standing in front of the couch trying to peel off layers of flannel, but his fingers are shaking too much to work right. I walk over to him. 

"Here, Hairboy," I say gently, "let me help." 

He screws up his pretty boy face in protest and I laugh softly at him. "I have four little brothers. I've seen them all shit-faced drunk or worse. Let me do this for you." 

He does and I get the flannel shirts off him, leaving the tee on. He heads for the bathroom then and I stand and wait. I think about getting him a drink and go to the fridge and nab a bottle of water, alcohol not seeming the right thing right at this moment. 

He comes out of the head and drags himself over to me. 

"Here," I hand him the water. 

"Thanks, H. Listen, you can go now. I'm okay." He stands in front of me, hesitating, and his eyes stray toward the upper level of the loft where Ellison sleeps, then flick toward his own room. I notice there is now a wooden door to the little alcove room instead of just a curtain. 

"You'd better call Jim." 

"Oh, yeah." 

Blair picks up the phone and dials Ellison's hotel number by memory. 

"Jim? It's me. Yes, Yes, I'm okay. Yeah, really. Yes, I know. Yes, I will. Yeah, me too. Okay, tomorrow." He pauses and I wish could hear what Ellison is saying to him, Blair has such a strange look on his face. "Ditto," he says and hangs up the phone. 

Slowly, as if lost in a fog, he starts moving. "Lock the door on the way out, will you, H?" He calls to me as he begins to cross the room. 

"I will," I say quietly. He doesn't look to see what I'm doing, if I'm going, he just heads toward the stairs and trudges up them. When he gets to the top I can still see him through the open railing as he unzips his jeans and pulls them off and collapses onto the bed. Jim Ellison's bed. 

Blair Sandburg's bed. 

I could win the pool in the bullpen with this information. But I won't. 

"Night, Blair," I call out as I head for the door. 

"Good night, Henri." His voice floats down from the bedroom above my head. I'm sure he's asleep before I unlock the door to my jeep. 

I pick up my car phone and dig out the paper with Ellison's number on it. 

"Ellison?" 

"H, he sounded okay, he's okay, isn't he?" 

"Yeah, yeah, he's okay. Just tired and a little roughed up, you know how it can be in the holding tank." I tell him. 

Ellison makes a strangled sort of sound a man doesn't like a friend to acknowledge. 

"He's all right, Jim. I promise. And he said... 

...He said to tell you he loved you." 

There is silence on the other end of the line. What else did I expect? 

"Thanks, H." Jim Ellison's voice comes across quiet and sure. 

"You're welcome, my friend. See you when I see you." 

I hang up and drive on home. 

I've known Jim Ellison for a long time and I'm glad he's finally found a little bit of happiness. Make that a whole shit load of happiness. And it's a damn fine thing. 

Finis 


End file.
